


"You did good."

by spiderfire



Category: Law & Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Chromatic NPT, F/M, Gen, High School, Inspired by Real Events, Not sure if this is truly casefic, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, POV Original Character, Police, Police Procedural, Post-Canon, School Shootings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderfire/pseuds/spiderfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the conclusion of the series, Goren and Eames are together.  She still works for NYPD and he is working as a teacher in a suburban public school.  He finds himself in the middle of what is literally every teacher's worst nightmare - a school shooting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unquietspirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unquietspirit/gifts).



> This story is written – more or less – in the format of a Law and Order: Criminal Intent episode. The first few scenes set up the story and those scenes are told from various points of view, then there is the main part which is the detectives doing their work, told from the detective’s point of view. This story finishes with a brief epilogue.

**Fairview High School, Fairview Connecticut, Monday Afternoon**

“Hello, Dr. Stuart.” 

Jen Stuart, principal of Fairview High School looked up. She was standing on the sidelines, watching the varsity lacrosse game. She nodded as the school’s resource officer, Officer Dan Green, strolled over to her. While she worked with a great team of administers, every time she met Officer Green, she thanked the stars he was the resource officer. A graduate of Fairview, from a family that had been in town for generations, he knew everyone and everything that was going on and he was always able to fill her in. 

“How are things?” he asked. 

“Pretty good, I think. Seems quiet after break.” 

“What’s the score?” 

“The game just started. It’s still zero/zero.”

Green nodded, watching the game. “Is that Seth Cho’s brother out there? Playing center?”

She shook her head wryly. “You’d probably know better than I.” She was terrible with names and even though it was near the end of her first year as principal of Fairview, she was still struggling to learn the names of all of her faculty. The students, much less their siblings, were a complete mystery. 

The police officer laughed. “You’ll get there, Dr. Stuart,” he said encouragingly. 

There was a series of lightning fast passes and suddenly the ball zipped into the opponent’s net. From the stands behind them, a chant went up, “AR-JUN, AR-JUN!” 

Principal Stuart turned around to look at the crowd. There was the usual mix of parents and kids, but the loudest cheers were coming from the side where a group of about 30 kids wearing shirts printed in Fairview’s green and blue were chanting loudly. It was the Best Buddies club and they were a reliable staple at the home games. 

Green followed her gaze and then drew himself up, frowning. “Excuse me,” he said to her. 

“What is it?” she asked, but he had walked out of earshot and did not hear her. 

Puzzled, the principal watched him walk toward the Best Buddies crowd. One of the things she loved most about her new principalship was the Progessional Learning Center. Fairview hosted this program for students with Down’s Syndrome and other severe learning disabilities. For most of their academics, the PLC students were in largely separate classes, but there were several different clubs in the school that reached out to them. Best Buddies paired typical students with the PLC students and they did social activities together. It was the first time she had been in a school with such diversity and it was really cool. 

Officer Green went up to a young man she did not recognize. She thought that the man was not a student, but she was not sure. Maybe he was a senior? The man was dressed in tattered jeans, a black concert t-shirt of some kind and a baseball cap. Green had his hand on the man’s shoulder and was pointing off the field. After a moment, the man shoved his hands in his pocket and stomped off. 

Green made his way back over to the principal. “Did you catch that?”

She shook her head. “What happened?”

“That was Allen Rogers. He graduated about three, four years ago. His sister, Susan, is a senior and has been friends with one of the PLC kids for years. Allen, well, let’s just say he has a history of having problems with the PLC kids and he was doing it again.”

She frowned. “Oh.” 

“You might want to go find Susan. She’s back there.” He pointed behind the bleachers. “I am going to make sure Allen leaves.” 

**211 West Street, Fairview – Monday night**

The heavy beats of the band _No Entrance_ pounded in time with Mike’s heart as he watched Allen work his way through the streets in _Titanfall_ , picking off bad guys with a systematic precision he admired. Allen was so much better at this game than Mike. They had been playing together a few minutes ago, but Mike had died. Allen continued playing. 

With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a baggie of pot. He was sitting on Allen’s unmade bed and he leaned back against the wall. As he started to roll a joint he asked, “Want some?” 

Allen shook his head. “Naw, I am on a r-r-r-roll.” 

“Okay.” 

Mike leaned his head back against the wall, listening to the music pounding out of the speakers. He liked the way it made him feel jittery and jumpy, tense and on edge. 

Eventually, Allen put down the game controller and swiveled in his chair. “You got more of that?” 

Wordlessly, Mike nodded and held out the baggie and rolling paper. 

Allen grinned. “You are good to me, man.” Allen spoke slowly, purposefully forming each word. 

Mike shrugged. 

“What about getting…” 

“Tomorrow. The guys I usually buy from don’t sell guns. It’s taking a bit longer.” 

Allen nodded. “There won’t be…”

Mike looked at him. “Be what?” 

“Problems.” 

Mike shook his head. “Don’t think so.” 

Allen grinned, “This is g-g-g-going to b-b-b-be so awesome.” 

Mike was not so sure about that, but he nodded in agreement. 

**Fairview High School, Tuesday morning**

Susan’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Mr. Goren was telling a story – again – he did that a lot and his stories were usually good. Today’s story had something to do with…she did not know. It was eighty out and sunny and this was the last block before lunch and no matter how great his stories were, she was not really paying attention. 

Her phone buzzed again. Charles, who sat next to her, had been texting earlier and Mr. Goren had not noticed. And Lisa, too. Maybe he had decided not to care today. 

Surreptitiously she drew her phone out of her pocket. 

It was Rachel, her best friend since forever: WHAT’S UP 4 LUNCH? 

Holding the phone under her desk she replied. ICE CREAM?

A shadow fell across her desk and she looked up. Mr. Goren was standing directly in front of her with his hand out. He had shed his customary blazer as a concession to the heat and he looked down at her over a plain blue tie. Oh god…she thumbed her phone off and shrunk down in her seat as she handed it to him silently. The look he gave her! 

He turned back to the front of the room and continued his story without missing a beat. He left her phone on the desk for the remainder of class and she sat there, staring at it. She tried to pay attention, she really did. AP Psych was so cool. But, oh god. This was the worst day. The worst week! Yesterday, her loser brother was a shithead at the game, insulting Sally to her face! Sally was slow, but she understood well enough. Now this! She loved Mr. Goren. He would explain things a million ways to her when she was stuck. He gave her an extension on the big project at the end of last semester. He let her re-write her essays. He was going to be so mad at her. 

No, not mad. Disappointed. 

When the bell rang, she took her time packing her things. When she walked up to the teacher’s desk, it was just the two of them in the room. 

He looked up at her, raising his eyebrows. 

She looked down at her arm full of notebooks.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Goren.”

“You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. 

He held out the phone. “Just don’t do it again. Okay?” 

She nodded. “Okay.” 

Taking the phone, she fled. 

**New York City, Tuesday night**

Goren unlocked the door to the apartment and opened it. “Alex?” he called.

There was no answer. He dropped his briefcase on the chair by the door and walked into the kitchen, putting the bag of Indian takeout on the counter. He opened the dishwasher and started putting away the glasses. 

About the time he was finishing up the silverware, he heard the door open and he looked up. “Hi Bobby,” he heard Eames call from the entrance. 

With a half smile, he met her in the hall on her way back toward the kitchen. “How was your day?” 

She shook her head as she unbuckled her shoulder holster and slung it and the gun into the drawer where she kept it. “You know,” she answered. “We are in the middle of weeks of boredom before the threat level gets raised and we will have 48 hours of insanity. I spent half the day trying to get approval for more community policing out in Flatbush and everyone had a reason why that was a bad idea.” She rolled her eyes. “Honest-to-god, I can’t believe this crap is police work.” 

As she spoke, Goren set the tiny kitchen table, laying out bowls and the unpacking rice, chicken korma and naan. He watched her more than he listened. He liked the way she moved, the decisive intent, the complete lack of hesitation, the fact that she was here at all. He tried not to get too invested in her work. He desperately missed being on the job. It helped that her promotion had taken her out of Major Case and what she was doing these days was more policy and strategy than cases. As she spoke, there was a passion that came through in the cadence of her voice and even though she was tired, even though it had been a tough day, he listened for that. He enjoyed that. He tried to make that enough. 

It was at times like these, when her voice washed over him, that he marveled at his life. He remembered, some five years ago, demanding of his job-required therapist: _Do you think I can have what other men have? Intimacy? A family? Am I capable of it?_ The therapist had no answers for him. That he had found it with his former partner, his best friend of a dozen years, still amazed him. 

It was a few minutes into the meal when she asked him how his day was. 

“Fine,” he said. “I guess. My seniors are done. It’s frustrating.” 

She chuckled. “Well, it’s pretty natural.” 

“My grades didn’t go down at the end of high school.”

“Of course not,” she answered around a mouthful of rice. “Mine did.” 

“And then there is this one kid. Susan.” 

She looked up at him.

“I’ve told you about her before.”

Eames nodded. “She’s the one with the mom who has cancer?” 

Goren shook his head. “No, that’s Lily. Susan’s father was abusive, beat the crap out of her, but he’s gone now. She’s done a pretty good job getting herself together since then.” 

“I remember.”

“She’s in my AP Psych class. She’s promising. Good kid. She works really hard.”

“Okay.” 

“She’s just been…since break. Not paying attention, not participating. Today I even caught her texting in class.”

Eames shook her head. “What is the world coming to?” she asked with a half smile. 

“It’s not like her,” he replied. 

Scooping of the last of her rice with a piece of naan, Eames shook her head. “You should talk with her. Find out what’s wrong.”

“Last time…”

“Last time you grilled a kid for half an hour. No, just a chat, Bobby. Let her know you are worried about her.” 

He hesitated before he answered. “I will give it a try.” 

She reached across the table and took his hand. “You are doing good, you know that?” 

Turning his hand over in hers, he gave it a squeeze. “You think so?” 

**Fairview High School, Wednesday morning**

Susan chewed her pencil, considering the question. _Identify the basic characteristics of humanistic therapy, behavior therapy, and cognitive therapy._ They were taking a practice test in AP Psych. Mr. Goren sat up front, grading papers and the rest of the class had their pencils going a mile a minute. 

Ugh. She should know this. She had been dragged to therapists for years. Her pocket buzzed. 

She looked up at Mr. Goren. He was engaged in some essay. She carefully snuck her phone out of her pocket. It was her brother. “U N MATH?” he had asked. 

NO, she replied. PSYCH.

She stuck the phone under her leg and went back to the question. A minute later it buzzed again. She looked up again but Mr. Goren was still grading and she snuck a look. NEXT TO RETARDS?

With disgust, she shoved it back in her pocket. The Progressive Learning Center was down the hall from the pysch classroom, yes. Both the PLC’s rooms and Mr. Goren’s room looked out of the building in the same direction, over a patch of overgrown, swampy land that was currently flush in with spring green and little white flowers. 

When her phone buzzed again, she ignored it. And then again. Mr. Goren looked directly at her. She pulled the phone out from under her leg and she was about to shut it off when she saw the messages. 

SORRY SIS

GET DOWN

What the hell was her brother talking about? And suddenly she knew it was something horrible. Her brother had been strange the last few days. “Mr. Goren?” She bit her lip, looking out at the wide open window where a group of PLC kids were walking by on their way to lunch. Sally was there. Mr. Sanders, one of the PLC teachers was pushing Jason in a wheel chair. There were a few others she did not know. “Um…” 

He walked over and she held out the phone, showing him the messages on the screen. Then he followed her gaze out the window. In his hand, the phone buzzed again. 

“Everyone, now!” he ordered. “On the floor.” 

No one had ever heard him use that tone of voice. They sat up from the test and looked at each other. 

From somewhere, the screaming started. 

“Down!” he repeated.

A decade of practice in school lockdowns came into play. They scrambled to the floor and huddled together, shaking, crying in the one spot in the classroom you could not see from outside – right under the windowsill. The screaming continued. 

**Fairview High School – an hour later**

Officer Han drove through the center of town, lights and siren blaring. Cars scrambled to get out of her way as she blasted through the light, taking the right turn with her wheels squealing. 

Ten years she had been on the force in Fairview, working her way up the ranks. The only Asian and one of two women on the force, she suspected she had been hired to meet the needs of the changing demographics in the town, but she did not care. Ten years and the worst situation she had dealt with was the occasional domestic assault. Never a shooting. Never a shooting with multiple victims. That was why she took this job. She had seen enough action in Afghanistan to last her a lifetime. 

She was a good twenty minutes behind the first responders and the scattered reports she had gotten was that the shooting was over. The scene was secure.

She pulled into the parking lot and left her cruiser parked behind an ambulance from two towns over. Fairview only had one ambulance and local aid had come out in force. It looked like the town’s entire police force was here. She even spotted three cruisers from neighboring towns handling traffic. 

Someone had already strung up yellow crime scene tape. She pushed her way under it and looked around. 

The shooting had occurred next to the high school’s main building. There was a stretch of wetland that separated the school from its playing fields and a sidewalk that ran between the school and the swampy area to her right. The wetland was full of cattails. There were muddy tracks in a couple of places into or out of the marsh. 

The sidewalk was where the carnage was. Swallowing hard, she counted one, two, three, four, five bodies down and a big, heavy motorized wheel chair knocked over on the grass. Three of the bodies had clusters of EMTs around them. The other two were laying there unattended. They must be dead. 

Her heart was racing, far too fast. 

As she walked forward, Officer Green came up. “Ma’am,” he said. One of the few other non-white officers on the force, Officer Green belonged to a small, close-knit African American community in town that traced its connections to Fairview back to the Revolutionary war.

“What happened?” she asked. 

“Five shot, two dead.” 

“The shooter?” 

“We think there were two or three. We have a suspect in custody. One of the teachers apparently tackled him and held him until help arrived. The other shooters ran off.” He shook his head. “The teacher’s over there.” He gestured at the line of ambulances. “Name’s Robert Goren. I don’t know him. He’s new. Wrenched his shoulder in the tackle.” Green frowned. “Don’t know the perp either. Trinsky and Sully left to take him back to the station just a couple of minutes ago.”

She nodded. Sometimes she found it amusing that Green assumed he knew everyone. “What about the victims?”

“There’s a program at the school for cognitively disabled students. Two of the victims were teachers in that program, the others were students.” 

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Lovely,” she said. 

“Witnesses?” 

“About 150 students and their teachers were in those classrooms there,” he pointed to the row of windows overlooking the marsh. “I am going to try and talk to them in a few minutes. They are pretty shaken up. I had the dean bring them to the auditorium while I checked in with you.” 

She nodded. Pulling latex gloves from her pocket she said, “Let’s go.” 

As they walked over to the dead victims, one of the teams of EMTs pulled their gurney up and shoved it along the sidewalk towards the ambulance at a jog. Within seconds, the ambulance was screaming out of the parking lot. 

She crouched down, studying the first of the victim. A student, by the looks of it. The young woman was physically mature, but of a rather short stature. She had the wide set eyes and face shape she associated with Down’s Syndrome. A bullet had caught the woman in the temple and she had crumpled, clutching a bright pink purse close to her chest. 

For a moment, Han, who had been Lieutenant Han a decade ago, was crouching in a ditch in Afghanistan, examining a girl caught in the blast of an IED. When she had found that girl, her legs had been blown off, her arms wrapped around a filthy stuffed animal. 

Taking a breath, she shook her head and looked back at the girl in front of her. She looked up at Green, “Do we have an ID?”

He nodded. “One of the teachers told us her name was Sarah Pagiloni.” 

She gently took the purse from the girl’s grasp, trying not to think about the filthy little stuffed animal that had turned out to be an overstuffed pink mouse, and unzipped it. Sunglasses. A phone. A sheet of unicorn stickers. Eight dollars in ones. A school issued ID. 

With a sigh, she put the purse back and stood as another team of EMTs pushed their victim along the sidewalk – this time at a more measured pace. There was a teacher walking next to the boy in the stretcher, holding his hand. The teacher was saying to the boy, “What would Olaf say if he saw you in a bed with wheels, Jason?” 

The boy cocked his head, thinking, “Olaf would say, a bed with wheels? Why didn’t I think of that! I could sleep all day!” 

They walked over to the other dead victim. A stout older man with gray hair. He had been shot in the chest and had bled out on the sidewalk. He was surrounded by a wide pool of blood that had run in rivulets into the grass. “This is Mr. Sanders. Jack Sanders. He’s been a teacher at the school since before I was a student,” Green supplied. 

She nodded. “You knew him?” 

Stony-faced, Green nodded. “Not well. He was always a teacher in the...the PLC program but he ran the clock at the football and basketball games, so I got to know him a bit. He was…he was…” He stopped talking. 

She looked up. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“What was he?” 

Green looked down at the older man. “He was a good guy.” 

She nodded and stood. A third ambulance was leaving. Two more sat parked, one with the teacher sitting on the back bumper.

“This your first case with fatalities?” 

Green shook his head. “No, but I’ve never known the vic before.”

She nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll go talk to the students?” she asked.

“Sure. Or, at least see if they are calm enough.” 

She nodded. “I am going to talk to the teacher.” 

He started to go when she asked, “Green? Where’s the captain?” 

He turned back. “Last I heard, he was coordinating with the principal, Dr. Stuart. They are trying to dismiss the students in some sort of orderly fashion before the parents beat down the doors.” 

“I don’t envy them.” 

With a grim chuckle, Green nodded. “Me neither.” 

They parted ways as Han made her way over to the remaining ambulances, studying the man as she approached. His most notable feature at the moment was that he was filthy. He was Caucasian, older, perhaps in his fifties or sixties, going grey and a bit heavy set. His white shirt and tie were coated in mud. Someone had washed the worst of it off his face, but his hair was still clumped and muddy and there were streaks of dirt on his face. His right arm was being bound to his torso as she came up. He looked up at her and nodded as she approached. 

“Mr. Goren?” she asked as she walked up. 

“Yes.” 

“I am Officer Han, Fairview Police,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened?” 

“Sure.” He paused as the EMTs finished tying off the splint and stepped back. His eyes roamed over the crime scene, lingering on the two dead bodies. “I used to be on the job,” he said softly. 

“Really?” she asked. 

He nodded. “I, uh, retired about five years ago.” 

“Thought teaching would be a nice quiet retirement, huh?” 

He smiled weakly. “Something like that.”

“Where’d you serve?”

“As a cop? New York. Major case.” 

She blinked as a wave of uncertainty passed through her. New York! Major Case! She had heard of them. They just handle the most heinous of NYCs many murders. It took her a moment to reply. “So, you must be used to this kind of thing,” she managed after a moment. 

Robert Goren shook his head, looking back at out at the victims. “No, I don’t think this is ever something you get used to. Desensitized, maybe, but … they were just kids, you know?” 

Suddenly he reminded her of a tired, weary JAG she had dealt with in Afghanistan. Captain O’Leary, she recalled. They had worked together for weeks putting together a case against Marine sergeant who had raped an Afghani girl. He had nearly 25 years in the JAG under his belt with service on four continents, and he said the same thing. You never get used to this.

She returned her attention to her witness. “Can we talk about what happened?” she prompted again. 

“I was in class and one of my students got a text. I…Her name is Susan. Susan Rogers. The text said…I don’t remember exactly, but you can pull the records. It said something about “next to the retards” and “get down”.” 

“Retards?” 

“The PLC students – they have classrooms down the hall from mine.” He pointed. “My room is there, on the end, the PLC is sort of in the middle of the building. Anyway, she showed me the phone a moment before the shooting started. I got the kids on the floor. From my angle, I could see a group of PLC students and teachers walking by the side of the building. They go to lunch before the rest of the population does. And I could see what I thought were the shooters out in the marsh.” 

She nodded. “Go on.” 

“I snuck out the end door and circled around behind them. They did not see me until I was 10 feet away, maybe? One of them saw me first and yelled something to his partner. The partner grabbed the gun and ran. The one who spotted me reacted slower. He was the one I tackled.” 

“Any idea who?” 

“I did not recognize them, but that cell phone I took? Susan Roger’s? I think the sender called her “sis” in the message. She does have a brother. She’s talked about him.”

Han nodded, writing some notes. “Thank you, Mr. Goren. If you remember anything else?” She held out her card. 

“I’ll call you.” 

“Thank you.” She looked back out at the crime scene where pictures were being taken, samples were being gathered. A uniform was wading out of the muddy cattails carrying several evidence bags. “And thank you for what you did.”

He followed her gaze and said nothing. 

**Fairview High School, Guidance office**

Han followed Green through the school hall. It was empty now, quiet and a little eerie. Most of the kids and staff had gone home. She remembered being in high school and being in the building on the weekend for some reason, of roaming the empty halls. 

She followed Green into the office conference room where a girl sat with red rimmed eyes. Caucasian, blond with shoulder length hair. She was rather non-descript. No makeup, a plain green t-shirt. An adult sat next to her, her guidance counselor she thought Green had said. 

Han pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her. “I am Officer Han,” she said gently. “And you are Susan Rogers?”

The girl nodded. The guidance counselor put her hand on Susan’s shoulder. 

“I understand you have something you would like to tell us?” 

“Is Mr. Goren okay?” 

Han nodded. “I think he is going to be okay.”

“Is it true about Sally? Sally Pagiloni?”

It took Han a moment to place the name but she must have made some expression because suddenly Susan buried her face in her hands. “It’s my fault. This whole thing is my fault!” 

Han looked at the guidance counselor but the guidance counselor was watching Susan. Han pushed a box of tissues across the table and waited for Susan to collect herself. When the girl looked up, she asked, “Why do you think this is your fault?”

She looked down at her hands. “Because he does not like my friends.” 

“Sally Pagiloni?” 

Susan nodded, teary eyed. The guidance counselor put her arm around her. 

Han waited for her to calm back down before she asked gently, “Can you tell me what you know?” 

Susan looked up, wiping her eyes. “It was my brother,” she said quietly. “He’s a complete loser. He lives in the basement, spends his days hanging out down there with his loser friends, smoking pot and playing video games. He hates the PLC kids ‘cause he stutters. Always has.” 

“Okay. But that does not make him a…” 

“I got a text from him. Here.” She slid her phone across the table and Han looked down at it. “When I told him I was in psych and not in math, his next comment was ‘SORRY SIS. GET DOWN.’”

She turned and looked at the guidance counselor. The guidance counselor nodded. “Tell her the rest,” she urged Susan. 

Susan turned back to Han. “A day or two ago, I heard him talking about guns. How their plan was going to be so awesome.”

“He had guns?” 

Susan shook her head. “Not that I know of, but it sounded like he and...what’s his name? Mike? Mike. They were talking about getting guns.”

“And Mike is?” 

She shrugged. “My brother hangs out with him. I think he’s a drop out from Summerfield.” Summerfield was the next town over. 

“Thanks to your teacher, we arrested Mike. Any idea of where we might find Allen?” 

Susan shook her head. “If he’s not at home? Well, he works at the hardware store. He never goes anywhere.” 

“Any other friends?”

“No. He’s a loser.”

**The Allen house, 211 West Street, Fairview**

“Police!!! Open up!” 

When the middle aged woman opened the door, police in riot gear flooded through. “Clear!” “Clear!” they hear as the officers sweep the rooms. 

“What is going on?” the woman demanded. 

“We have a warrant to arrest Allen Rogers. Is he here?”

“Oh god!!” the woman cried. “What has he done? What has my baby done!” 

Tight lipped, Green said, “There was a shooting at the high school and he is a suspect.” 

“Oh god…” She collapses on the couch. 

“May we look at his room?”

Without looking up, the woman nodded. “It’s in the basement.” 

Han and Green followed the initial surge down to the basement. 

The room was messy with dirty dishes stacked by the computer, a rumpled unmade bed, and piles of clothes on the floor. They walked through, not touching anything. Han was looking at the boxes of games when Green said, “Look at this.”

Han turned to see that he was holding up a box that once held ammo, dangling it from the end of a pencil. 

**The Fairview police station**

Han and Green entered the interview room together. Mike Lafitte, aged 17, sat next to his lawyer. Han took a seat across the table. Green leaned against the wall. 

Han studied the boy. He had had a shower. He was not covered in mud any more. He had short sandy blonde hair and he was wearing a black concert shirt and jeans. 

The lawyer interrupted her thoughts. “My client would like to make a deal,” he opened. 

Han sat back in her chair and looked at the lawyer. “He had gunpowder residue on his hands. No deal.” 

“My client did not kill anybody. He was just testing the gun out before they got to the school. He shot it at a tree.”

“Really.” 

“Allen Rogers was your shooter.” 

Han shook her head. “No deal until we hear what your client has to say.” 

The lawyer leaned over and whispered something to Mike. 

Mike looked at the lawyer and the lawyer nodded. “Allen did the shooting. He’s better than me at _Titanfall_.” 

Susan raised an eyebrow. That was the last thing she was expecting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Green shake his head, taking a step forward. 

“Mike,” he said. “You live in Summerfield, right? Next town over?” 

Mike nodded. 

“You are enrolled at Washington High? A…” he consulted his notes, “You are supposed to be a junior but you are having some problems with absences.”

Mike nodded again, slowly. 

“What’s it like at school?” 

“It’s awful. I don’t go anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

“What’s the point?” 

“How did you meet Allen?” 

“At a concert. We both go to the _No Entrance_ concerts when they are in town. We went drinking…” Suddenly he blanched and looked at the lawyer. 

The lawyer tried hard not to roll his eyes. 

Han said, “Don’t worry about that. Tell us about Allen.” 

The boy looked from the cop to the lawyers and back. “Allen is nice to me. We hang out.”

“And do what?” 

“Listen to music, play video games.” 

“How did you get the guns?” Han asks. 

“I got them. From my dealer.” 

Green looked at Han and she shook her head. That was something to follow up on later.

“For what purpose?” 

“We were going to shoot the retards. I mean, why are they even alive?” 

In the silence that followed, Han and Green considered where to go next. It was Green who picked up the questioning. “Tell us how things went down.” 

Mike looked at the lawyer and the lawyer nodded. 

“I finally got the guns yesterday. I brought them over to Allen this morning. We got our stuff and went to the high school. Allen wanted to be sure that the gun was working so he said – shoot that tree. I tried, but when the gun kicked back in my hand I missed. He was all mad at me and took it back. He tested the other one. I told him it wasn’t fair – I had gotten the guns. He told me to shut up.”

“We got to the school and found a place in the grass. It was all muddy in there – we had not counted on that. And then they came. He had both guns, like I said. He was all cool and it was awesome and then, out of no where this big guy comes running at me. Run! I tell Allen as the guy jumped me.”

Han frowned, “And where is Allen now?” 

Mike shrugged. “At home? We hang out in his basement.” 

“Anywhere else he might be?”

Mike shook his head. “At work maybe? He works at the hardware store.”

“Anywhere else?” 

He shrugged. 

The two cops looked at each other. The lawyer said, “Well?” 

Han stood. “We’ll talk to the DA and let you know.” 

**The police station workroom**

Han got off the phone. “He’s not at the hardware store.” 

Green absently nodded, flipping through a file. When he found what he was looking for he held it out to Han. “Look at this.” 

She took the file and looked. “This was two years ago?” 

He nodded. 

“Think it is still in use?” 

He nodded again.

“Let’s go.” 

**Devil’s Den conservation land – Fairview**

Green looked over where Han was supposed to be as they made their way through the woods, but she had disappeared. She must be out there somewhere, but she seemed to have melted into the trees, disappearing like a rock beneath the surface of a pond. 

He knew she was a vet, West Point, Afghanistan, but aside from the baseball bat she kept shoved up her ass when it came to following procedures, she was no different than the other cops he worked with. Competent, focused. However, the rest of the dozen cops, him included, were tromping through the woods like a heard of elephants. 

They fanned out. 

He was maybe 100 yards away from the rock outcrop that made a bit of a cave when a voice called out. “Stay there!”

He stopped. 

“Allen, I just want to talk!” he shouted. 

A gun fired. 

Green looked to the left and right. All of the officers he had brought seemed to be okay. 

There was a commotion up in the fort. 

“Wha-aat the f-f-f-f-f-f-uck!” Allen screamed. 

A moment later Han called out. “Clear!”

Green jogged up to find that Han hauling Allen to his feet. Allen’s arms were cuffed behind his back and he did his best to shake Han’s hands loose, growling angrily. A nasty bruise was rapidly darkening on his temple.

Han tightened her grip. “Allen Rogers, you are under arrest for the murder of Sarah Pagiloni and Jacob Sanders. You have the right to …” 

**Epilogue – Fairview Hospital**

Eames was waiting for him when they brought him back from the MRI. He could hear her pacing before they even got him into his alcove in the ER. He looked up at the attendant wheeling him along and said, “Sure you can’t take me somewhere else?”

The attendant was a black young man with long dreads held back in a ponytail. He looked up at the alcove and then back at Goren. “That your wife?” 

Goren shook his head. “Not exactly. But…” 

“Sorry, Mr. Goren.”

He had started to laugh but had stopped himself as pain shot up his arm. “Figures,” he said wryly. 

The attendant pushed him into the alcove. He ignored Eames’s eyes as he got settled back in bed and the attendant left, perhaps walking faster than strictly necessary. Eames in this mood was bad enough. Eames armed and in uniform was downright terrifying. 

Once they were alone, she held out her phone, waving it at him. “What is this?”

“What?” 

“Bobby,” she said warningly, “Don’t you dare. You sent me a text four hours ago and all it says is ‘I AM FINE’. Then Rory sticks his head in my office and says, ‘Hey, what school does Bobby teach at again?’ ‘Fairview,’ I told him. ‘Turn on the news,’ he says. And what do I see? Bobby – what do I see? I don’t call going to the hospital fine. I don’t call three dead fine.” 

“Three?”

“A kid died on the way to the hospital. Shut up. I don’t call four people brought to the hospital fine. You work in Fairfield County, Bobby. Not in Harlem. This is not fine! And then…then, you couldn’t call me? You’ve been here for hours, Bobby. What the hell? You promised me. You aren’t going it alone anymore. You promised me!” 

As she spoke, he felt himself deflating, sinking down in the bed. When she was done, he looked up, trying to catch her eye. “You are right,” was what he said. 

That stopped her cold. She turned and looked at him. “What did you say?”

“You are right,” he said softly. “I should have called again.” 

He could see her face soften but then she stopped. “You mean it? You’re not just playing me.” 

He shook his head. “I mean it.” 

Studying his face, she came over to the bed and reached out, taking his good hand in her own. “You are a damn fool,” she said after a minute. 

“I know,” he replied. 

She gently squeezed his hand. “You did good today,” she said quietly. 

“I wish I had been faster.” 

She leaned in and let her lips meet his. “You did good.”


	2. Sausage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A while ago, after I blundered my way through my first attempt to write case fic, I came across [this remarkable essay](http://sage.dreamwidth.org/1350387.html) by sage on dreamwidth. For this story, even though this is more of a police procedural than pure casefic, I used her template and I found it to be incredibly helpful. I thought you might be amused to see what it looked like. Note: this doc was not updated as I made changes in the story (with the exception of making the character names consistent - my rough draft had some unfortunate choices for names - like Principal Alice Hannigan and one of the incidental cops named Hardigan) so you can see some of the changes I made in the writing.

**Setting:**

Fairview High School – an midlevel affluent suburb of New York (ie not Greenwich). About 1000 kids, including a population of about 50 special needs kids with downs syndrome, autism, etc. The town is mostly white and asian. It is largely a bedroom community for New York. MetroNorth runs through the town. Generally the sort of place where things don’t happen. 

There is a longstanding conflict between townies and people who came “for the schools” Do not see eye to eye on anything – from taxes to town priorities to the role of athletics in the schools. 

**Time:** April – a week after vacation. 

**Characters**

\- Bobby Goren – History teacher – in his second year, doing okay. Does a good job at connecting with kids on a personal level, but sometimes leaves them in the dust content wise. Similar problems with his colleagues – they see him as pompous, but he knows his stuff. 

\- Alexandra Eames – still working with NYPD as a Lt. with the homeland security unit

(About five years ago, Goren left the force. He had long been interested in her, but out of respect for her husband, out of not wanting to mess the partnership up (ha), out of not believing that he was capable of intimacy, he held back. Three years ago, they crossed paths at a funeral for a cop they both knew. They went out to coffee. They both laughed. Things went from there. They moved in together around the time Goren took the teaching job. They live in the city and Goren commutes out to his job, spending the hour trip on the train reading or, when he has to, grading.) 

\- Detective Lucy Han – 10 year veteran of the suburban Fairview police force – biggest crime she has ever caught was a DUI type thing. She is an Afghanistan vet, and is about to have a PTSD issue she did not know she had. Asian, the senior partner, strong, confident. Has a problem with coffee and is allergic to milk. 

\- Resource officer Daniel Green – 5ish years, new detective – grew up in the Fairview and knows everyone. Played football, basketball, lacrosse – triple letterman. Pragmatic, a bit of a bigger than life personality. Goren will not like him. 

\- Perp #1 – Allen Rogers – 22, townie, but family is not well respected. Graduated barely. Has a sister – four years younger. Has a speech impediment and he stutters when he talks quickly – consequently he generally talks very slowly. Dropped out of community college, works at the hardware store and lives in his parent’s basement. Likes the band No Entrance (lots of sex, violent imagery). Met Mike at a concert. The ringleader.

\- Perp #2 – Mike Lafitte – 17, resident of the next town over, basically dropped out – stopped going to school. Learning disability, not very bright, reads at a low level, but prides himself at being not one of THOSE kids. From a rich family and has more disposable income than sense – smokes a lot of pot (provides it to Allen) and is dabbling in heroin. Got the guns. Likes to hang out in Allen’s basement because his parents are on his case. 

\- Susan Rogers (Allen’s sister) – struggling through Goren’s AP psych class, but she really likes him Her brother is a fuckup and she can’t stand him but he looks out for her – despite the fact she does not want to be looked out for. Plans to go to a 4 year college next year. Involved in volleyball and yearbook and Best Buddies. 

\- Susan’s friend??? - Rachel

\- Principal Dr. Jen Stuart – First year principal. VERY smart, not such a good people person. Not very warm or empathic, but a superb curriculum leader. Bobby does not have a lot of time for her mistakes. 

**The crime:** Three special needs kids are shot, one dies on the scene, one in the hospital. One adult aid killed, one injured. Scene interrupted when Bobby leaps on Mike and Allen flees. Goren not shot, but wrenches his shoulder in the struggle. 

**Scene list: (this was my plan – this is not what happened!)**  
Before the shooting  
\- Officer Green and Principal Stuart watching a lacrosse game that the Best Buddies have attended in pairs. Allen shows up and sees his sister, Susan watching the game with her Best Buddy. Green escorts Allen out after he is rude.   
\- Susan texting in Goren’s class – He calls her out for not paying attention. She is mortified. This was a terrible week between her brother’s behavior at the game and now letting down Goren.   
\- Mike and Allen listening to music, playing a first person shooter game. Planning.   
\- Goren and Eames talking about Susan. Goren is frustrated because she is promising, but she is only planning to go to a community college.   
\- Goren’s class the next week. Susan getting an ominous text from her brother during an AP Psych class and then bringing it to Goren. 

After the shooting (shooting itself off screen)   
\- Green and Han on scene – Han struggling, as they look over the bodies and watch the EMTs deal with the wounded. Green recognizes some of the victems. (NEED NAMES!) Piece out the scene.  
\- Principal vs. Press (in the background)  
\- The interview with Goren – Goren does not hide his contempt for small town cops. Goren describes what happened as the EMTs treat his shoulder.  
\- Cops and Susan with the text. Susan suggests her brother after seeing Mike.   
\- Goren and Eames that night. Eames trying to talk some sense into Goren, but still proud of him.  
\- Three days later, school reopens. Goren and Susan. Goren and principal. 

 

**Cut scene:**

**Fairview High School, the following Monday**

Goren walked into his classroom, setting his bag down on his desk one handed. His right arm was strapped to his body in some contraption the doctor called a sling, but it was far more restrictive than that and he already hated it. 

Eames had asked him this morning if he was ready to go back, if he would be okay. He had looked at her as he had put his glasses in his pocket. “I’ve seen far worse, and you know it.” 

She had shaken her head at him. “It’s different now, and you know it. Have you thought about how they are going to treat you when you get there?” 

Eyes hooded, he had picked up his briefcase and had turned away. “I am going to miss my train.” He could feel her eyes on him as he walked out the door. 

Jen Stuart, the principal, had called him on Friday and again on Sunday, to see how he was doing. Based on those phone calls, he was a bit worried about the reception that would greet him. It could go one of two ways and he did not know what he dreaded more. The blame for taking so long to get out there, or the adoration for stopping the shooting at all. On the first call, Alice had thanked him profusely and he had tried to tell her he did not need thanks, he would appreciate it if it was just over. Taken aback, she had ended the call quickly. When she called again on Sunday, it was strictly professional. Would he be in work Monday? Did he need any accommodations for his injury?

Twenty minutes before the start of school the first teacher stopped by. Another teacher from the history department, he wanted to say thanks and find out if there was anything he could do. Seconds after he left, another teacher showed up at his door. After fifteen minutes, his desk was covered in cards and several small bouquets of flowers. 

When Dr. Stuart came over the PA to announce that they would be starting the day with an assembly, he joined the teachers and students filing into the auditorium. He took his place, standing in the back with the other teachers, flanked by two others from the history department whom he worked with. The mood was somber and the students were quiet, sitting in clumps with their heads close together. There were some tears, and there were students who did not know him, mostly the freshmen and sophomores, who turned in their seats and pointed.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Moontyger, sleepysuya, and lawrvert for the insightful beta reads. 
> 
> The prompt was for a happy ending for Eames and Goren that they did not get in the series. Happy endings are not really my strong suit - I hope this came close enough. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to staff at all the schools where the shootings did not occur - not because there was not mean, motive and opportunity, but because of quick action on the parts of the school administration and police. I work in such a school. While none of the characters are based on real people, the situation and the setup all come from an incident that did not happen at my school.


End file.
